


A Well-Dressed Geek

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [34]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: BAMF Spike, Other, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you think I can pull this off?” Spike asked his team jokingly, as they all sat in the briefing room, and took his own seat while pulling the case files closer. Dress slacks and a button down shirt clung, professionally, to his frame. It was so odd; he didn’t have on the heavy material of his uniform, and he felt too light without his thigh holsters and thick boots.<br/>“What, a well-dressed geek?” Sam laughed, “Yeah, Spike, I think you’ve got it.” </p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Spike goes undercover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Well-Dressed Geek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siennavie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennavie/gifts).



> ...I'm in a sarcastic mood today. I apologize for that and that this story has a plot line that is more confusing than William Graham's mind.  
> Anyway, enjoy! And by the way... I don't bite. Feel free to chat about OT4 or Flashpoint with me. I swear, I don't bite! Thank you so much for all the love my stories have gotten! :D
> 
> A/N: I do not own Flashpoint, nor the characters. I do not make a profit from my writing. However, it's still my writing so please don't repost anywhere. Thanks!

Feeling naked in thin street clothes, Spike finished buttoning up his shirt as Winnie stepped away—her hands were empty now that she’d finished putting the wire on the bomb tech. The thin piece of plastic was tucked below his undershirt; it was both a lifeline to safety and a tripwire to set off a chain reaction…if it was discovered.

“Do you think I can pull this off?” Spike asked his team jokingly, as they all sat in the briefing room, and took his own seat while pulling the case files closer. Dress slacks and a button down shirt clung, professionally, to his frame. It was so odd; he didn’t have on the heavy material of his uniform, and he felt too light without his thigh holsters and thick boots.

“What, a well-dressed geek?” Sam laughed, “Yeah, Spike, I think you’ve got it.”

“Thanks, Samtastic,” Spike replied with a grin, good naturedly; Greg rolled his eyes, clearing his throat and regaining Team One’s attention.

“Okay, so the firm Spike’s going under-cover for…”

 

* * *

 

Walking through the large glass doors with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, Spike flashed his clearance badge at the security desk. There were people milling around everywhere, press and workers alike, but the elevator was blessedly empty.

It would be a short job, hopefully; all Spike had to do was hack into the firm’s server and download some hidden files—deeply concealed emails that, hopefully, held the coded location of a worker’s kidnapped family. Foolishly _deleted_ emails—the man had panicked, having been told his family would be killed if anyone found out of the ransom demand—that could only be accessed by a skilled hacker from an internal source.

So that was why Spike was decked out in prim attire and baring a badge that named him as the newest I.T. employee. The wire, which the brunette really didn’t understand the necessity of, was due to Greg’s insistence.

Strolling into the I.T. office, situated a floor below the sea of terminals and agency workers, the bomb tech greeted his fellow “personnel” with a friendly smile and a firm handshake—setting his laptop bag down at the empty desk, and waiting for the man with the missing family to call him up for _help_ on his computer.

Spike made sure that the USB drive was tucked into the pocket of his dress pants.

An hour later, after typing away on his laptop and working on some coding he needed to update anyway, the call came and Spike’s new “boss” strolled over to his desk—telling him the floor, worker location, and worker’s name with a low mumble about _useless lawyers_ and _can’t even restart their damn computer_.

Closing the computer’s lid, pushing himself up and out of his chair, the bomb tech nodded and headed for the elevators; men and women bustled by, arms heavy with files, and this time the elevator was crowded with annoyed 9 to 5’ers.

Slowly, the numbers climbed as the doors swung open to the demanded floors, and Spike stepped out when he saw it was the one he wanted. An ocean of cubicles made his stomach roll—the bomb tech couldn’t image being trapped here, working all day, in such a confined space.

“Mr. Anderson?” Spike asked, knocking a door towards the back of the floor—the manager’s office, he thought briefly—“I’m here to fix the startup error you’re having.”

“Come in!” The man called, voice shaky, and Spike wanted to swear—that was the danger with working with people undercover, if this man couldn’t handle the pressure and blew his cover…

Opening the door and closing it behind him with a calm swing, the brunette gave the man a reassuring smile—until he saw another man, a man he didn’t recognize, standing behind the father of the missing family. Standing behind Mr. Anderson and pressing a gun to his skull.

Spike didn’t have to fake the shock, but he didn’t hide his panic—his cover wasn’t blown, the gunman didn’t recognize him. The subject didn’t know he was glaring down an SRU officer. He was just another tech guy, just another face, from a vague agency the company got workers from.

_Guess this isn’t going to be as easy and quick as I thought_ , Spike groaned internally, and schooled his face into terror. Eyes wide, mouth agape, and stock still—the team would have been proud of his performance.

Now he just had to get the gun pointed _away_ from the man he needed to protect.

“M-Mr. Anderson?” The bomb tech stuttered, hand reaching for the door knob behind him, and the gunman swung the weapon away from the back of his hostage’s head and pointed it at Spike. “Sir,” The bomb tech moved his hand away, raising them into the air, “there’s…there’s no need to _shoot_ anyone.” He pleaded, hoping it sounded convincing.

“There will be if you don’t keep quiet.” The gunman hissed, “You’re the officer undercover, aren’t you? The hacker? Good. It’ll make this a lot easier.”

Spike didn’t tense up, but it didn’t stop his heart from clenching and changing its rhythm.

“Come over here, I’ve got a job for you.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you _mean_ the cameras in Anderson’s office are disabled?” Greg barked angrily, leaning over Lou’s shoulder as the younger man typed.

“Spike’s wire’s offline, too, boss,” Lou groaned, turning around to catch the negotiator’s gaze, “You heard what the subject said, Spike’s cover is blown. We’ve got to get in there.”

“The gunman will realize when they start evacuating everyone,” Ed jumped it, “Then what’s to stop him from putting a bullet in Spike?”

“Eddie…” Greg warned, overly aware of the dangerous tone in his friend’s voice.

“Spike’ll probably find a way to fix all of this before any of us do,” Jules joked, a fond smile on her face, and Sam nodded softly as his lips ticked up—even with the tension in the air.

“Yeah… I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

“You want me to _what_?” Spike asked, sitting in the office chair with the gun pressed to his head—pretty much having switched positions with Anderson, who was now standing in a corner with his hands raised up.

“Hack into the main server and wipe everything.” The man told him, again, and a feeling stirred in Spike’s gut.

This wasn’t a criminal mastermind, a man who’d orchestrated the kidnapping of a woman and three children without so much as a partial finger print or a witness catching a car model, it was a grunt laborer. Just another _unskilled_ criminal with another _stolen_ gun. A hired hand.

Well, that sure changed things.

“Why?”

“You really shouldn’t demand answers from the man holding a gun to your head.”

“Who sent you; who gave you this job?” Spike asked, and the gunman’s eyes glowed with anger as he sloppily pointed the pistol at Anderson but still keeping his eyes on the bomb tech. Anderson, smartly, ducked down and got out of the line of fire. The gun was now pointed at the thick wall, and nothing else.

With a swift and smooth motion, Spike grabbed the man’s wrist and clocked him hard—sending him sprawling, hand loosening enough around the gun that the bomb tech managed to jerk it away before the trigger could be pulled.

Yanking his belt from the loops of his pants, Spike wrenched the wannabe gunman over and tied his hands together with the firm material. The man laid there, dazed.

“Stay there,” He said, grabbing the office phone and dialing Greg’s number while turning on the computer terminal and pulling the USB stick out of his pocket. Setting to work hacking into the system, and holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, Spike watched as the files unfolded from a celestial sky of firewalls and began to download. All the emails, all the information that came along with that, it all copied over to the drive as Spike smiled at the screen.

Now he just had to go and decode everything, and hopefully find a link to where the kidnapper was keeping Anderson’s family.

Realizing the security cameras in the office had been shut off, Spike rolled his eyes and switched them back on with a string of technical commands. Then he grinned at the camera, cocky and smug.

“Hey, Boss, think you’ve got a pair of handcuffs I can borrow?”


End file.
